


Shadow Duet

by dramatic_pause



Category: The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:59:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8823679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramatic_pause/pseuds/dramatic_pause
Summary: [“It felt like the right moment,” Blake explains, smile fading  into the parted lips of unapologetic confusion. ] Adam loses his temper with Blake after they get off stage, and Blake distracts him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> After I wrote the last, I got sick. Are you kidding me?

Adam barely holds back his anger until they’re off the stage.

 

“What were you thinking, Shelton?”He hisses as soon as they are far enough away from the crew and cast to sneek into an extra dressing room to ensure some modicum of privacy. Adam pivots hard, stalling his aggressive forward march and turning it around so rapidly that Blake nearly runs right into him.

 

Blake stumbles a bit into the room and takes a half step back as Adam slams the door closed, looking down at him with wide-eyed confusion. He’s still smiling though, the foolish grin he always wears still clinging to the corner of his mouth. Adam is going to murder him. “We didn’t plan to sing a [duet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGW7WzM6AnI). That wasn’t supposed to happen until we both left the show!”

 

“It felt like the right moment,” Blake tells him, his smile fading but only into the parted lips of unapologetic confusion. There’s sweat clinging to his forehead and glistening against his hair. Adam looks the same, still glowing faintly under his skin from being in the spotlight, the adrenalin pulsing like a heartbeat made visible in the dim lighting. Adam frowns back at him, eyebrows drawing together into the tension of vicious irritation.

 

“You didn’t give me any warning,” He insists, dragging his eyes up from the breathless shift of Blake’s shoulder to the dark shadows in his eyes. Adam reaches for the strap of his guitar and tugs it up over his head as full-body punctuation for his words. “No one was ready for us to sing together tonight. I sounded awful.”

 

“You sounded fine, darlin’.” Blake still looks maddeningly unfazed by Adam’s irritation. His eyes are drifting out-of-focus, his mouth working itself back into a smile as he thinks of their song.

 

From outside the door, he can hear Carson announcing a commercial break, can hear the crescendo of delighted wailing from the crowd at his voice. The drummer starts playing during the break, a low thrum of sound like a steady heartbeat. Adam can feel tremor down his spine with each impact of sound. “The crowd loved it.”

 

Adam growls, annoyed. “You can’t just make all the decisions.” They’re still close, so near Adam can see the dark of Blake’s eyelashes when he blinks, but he takes a step in anyway, cutting over the gap Blake caused by that first inadvertent motion backwards.

 

Blake blinks, steps back again, and Adam follows, crowding him in until Blake runs up against the wall of the dressing room. “You might think you’re the shit, Shelton. But you’re not the only one out there.”

 

Blake blinks again, faster this time, like he’s trying to place himself in the moment or remember how he got here with Adam so angry. “Sorry, Adam,” He says quietly, an easy admission that does nothing to untangle the knot of emotion in Adam’s chest or to ease the pressure that has ridden just under his ribcage since this season started.

 

 “I’ll talk to you about it next time I wanna’ do something like that.” He smiles again, a flash of white teeth in faded light, and the drumbeats feel like they’re inside Adam’s chest, thrumming out the rhythm of his heart for him. “It was great though, wasn’t it? Singin’ on stage with me?”

 

Adam doesn’t answer. The surrender to his demand should have been enough, should have eased if not removed the fire of irritation in the back of his thoughts, should have undone the cause and left the effect to dissipate away into the more usual low-level frustration Blake usually awakens in him.

 

But he’s going hotter instead of cooler, his heartbeat coming faster as if he’s still on stage. When he breathes, it’s like he can taste the odd electricity in the air, the promise of a storm before it breaks. “It was great,” Adam admits, and he hadn’t intended to say that, and certainly not with that strange crack in his voice halfway through, but what he intends doesn’t seem to matter very much because he’s certain there’s no intention in what he does next, which is lift his free hand and press his palm hard against Blake’s chest.

 

Blake takes a breath, his eyes going startled-wide by Adam’s openess, and Adam shoves, pins the other in place against the support behind him as he steps impossibly closer to bridge a gap he didn’t know was there until he crossed it. “You’re always so--” and he cuts himself off the only way he can, the only way that seems at all reasonable under the circumstances with both his hands occupied, which is to lean close and crush his mouth to the shocked soft of Blake’s lips.

 

Somewhere there’s a surge of sound, the resonance of Miley’s voice sweeping up to fill in the lower range Caron leaves unoccupied as he introduces the her performance. There’s a clatter of rhythm, the drummer shifting into the primary rhythm of the song, the crowd’s shouting fading to quiet under the force of the music sweeping over them in imitation of the Miley’s intoxication. But all Adam can think about is the fit of Blake’s mouth against his and the shadow of the other’s parted lips. When Blake sucks in a sharp, faint sound of surprise, it’s clear even over the sound from the bright-lit stage.

 

Adam draws back. His hand is still pressed to Blake’s chest, his fingertips skimming the line of collarbone sharp under the other’s skin. His heart is beating wildly in his ribcage, out-of-time with the drum rhythm or any pattern he can discern other than sheer uncontrolled adrenaline. He feels like he’s on fire, his thoughts spinning dizzy in his head, and when he takes a breath his knees start to shake in threat of collapse.

 

Blake’s eyelashes flutter. Adam realizes he must have had his eyes open the whole time, must have been too startled by this completely unprecedented action on Adam’s part to even react. “I knew you liked it.”

 

“Shut up,” Adam hisses , out of habit, because he can’t think of anything else to say to shut Blake up and the roaring crowd out. “I don’t--”

 

Blake’s eyelashes move again. Adam’s breath hitches.

 

“Darlin’,” He breathes, and Adam would protest the nickname just for the sake of something normal to do but Blake’s hand is in his hair, suddenly and with nothing like sufficient warning and then Blake is straightening from the wall and pulling Adam back into another kiss. A

 

He can feel the flex of the other’s shoulder under his fingers and the drag of Blake’s lips over his mouth, and even the possibility of protest vanishes from his mind. He moves instead, shoving Blake back against the wall, and Blake goes so easily that Adam thinks he might be being pulled instead, that he’s at Blake’s mercy as much as Blake is at his. a

 

Adam’s leg slips, his knee slotting between Blake’s to pin the other back to the wall, and Blake groans into his mouth and arches off the support and into the contact like he’s not aware of Adam’s grip on his shoulder at all.

 

Adam’s fingers slide, dig in over the top edge of Blake’s collarbone to cling to his arm, his shoulder, against the side of his neck, and Blake is shifting anyway, dragging own guitar free from between them and pulling Adam closer like he’s trying to remove the gap of the shadows between their shoulders.

 

There’s a surge of sound from the stage, a crescendo of music leading into the bridge, and Adam loses his balance and falls forward so the wall is holding them both up. The support quivers, the motion so pronounced he’s sure it must be visible to anyone who’s looking, but of course no one is looking for them as the bright glow of the stage peaks under the door in the dark room.

 

 Adam’s hand slides up higher, his fingers catching into Blake’s hair as the other drops his guitar against the wall. Blake makes another sound, a gasp, Adam thinks, and licks at Adam’s mouth. His tongue is hot, he tastes like electricity, and Adam parts his lips to suck friction against the drag of Blake’s mouth.

 

They’re fit together like puzzle pieces, now, the rhythm and melody of an unwritten song forming between their bodies and then Blake’s fingers drag across Adam’s stomach against his thin t-shirt, causing Adam to shudder and jolt away from the other’s mouth.

 

“What are you doing?” He asks, even though he knows, even though he doesn’t need the slide of Blake’s fingers pushing past what little clothing he still has on to tell him.

 

“It’s fine,” Blake soothes, comfort without an answer. “They still have a few minutes before we need to go back out there.”

 

“Two,” Adam corrects, hearing the drums cut off as Miley’s voice soars into the high note that marks the end of the first song. “It’s not enough time.”

 

“It is,” Blake tells him, and then his fingers are curling around the shape of Adam’s cock and any complaints about timing or setting evaporate themselves into heat in his mind. His head tilts down, hips tilt forward, and when he moves Blake’s hand drags over him, lighting fire into his veins as it goes.

 

Adam can taste music in the air, a harmony of notes spilling on Blake’s breathing rather than on the weight of sound still coming from the stage, and Adam’s unhooking Blake’s guitar to drop it against the wall next to his own with only the barest of glances to ensure its stability before putting his freed hand to much better use working at the edge of the other’s clothes. Blake makes a startled sound at the touch of Adam’s fingers, the volume of it loud enough to prickle the other’s spine with fear of being caught, and he leans in again to kiss Blake to silence while he drags the weight of fabric enough aside to imitate the hold Blake has on him.

 

Blake is starting to move, setting a rhythm to the stroke of his hand Adam can feel falling into pace with the thrum of the drums on stage, but then Adam’s fingers find flushed heat and Blake’s motion stutters, his mouth falling open into involuntary invitation.

 

 Adam takes it, licks against the heat of Blake’s mouth as he leans in, and if the other’s hold in his hair tightens he’s too distracted to notice, his attention pulled away by the rigid shape of Blake’s cock under his fingers and the speeding drag of the other’s hold on him as the music on stage softens and eases off into the trailing end of the song. Adam can feel panic threaten his awareness, the weight of time bearing down on him. It’s enough to pull him away, to grant him coherency between the syncopated patterns of their desperate movements.

 

“We don’t have the time,” Adam growls, the edge of irritation turning into nearly a sob as he considers Blake letting him go, as he tries to fathom picking his guitar back up and returning to stage with arousal so hot in his veins he can feel it aching in his throat. “We have to go back out there, we don’t--”

 

“We do,” Blake argues, and he sound sure of himself but even more than that he sounds shaky, his voice falling into a low range. Adam’s hold slips, his fingers tightening in sudden suspicion, and Blake’s head goes back, his breathing catching fast in the line of his throat. “Just keep goin’.”

 

“This isn’t fair,” Adam says, but he doesn’t stop, he’s moving faster, outpacing the drummer’s rapidfire rhythm with the stroke of his hand as Blake groans at the wall. “You get to come, but I don’t, that’s not fair at all.” But Blake’s arching off the wall, moaning something incoherent and shaky, and his expression collapses into idyllic satisfaction. Adam goes so all-over hot that he can hardly claim to be left unfulfilled. He’s still hard, painfully so, pressed against the stalled drag of Blake’s hand as the other shudders through his orgasm, but it seems like it might be worth it just for this image, for the flushed heat high over Blake’s cheekbones and the gasp of his breathing in time with Adam’s pounding heart.

 

Then Blake sighs relief into the air, and takes another inhale, and starts moving again. Adam can feel the sudden recurrence of friction like a jolt all down his spine, but on stage he can hear Carson announcing the next commercial break.

 

“Stop,” He says, even as his hips rock forward against Blake’s hand and his body strains for satisfaction that is still too far-off, as good as an infinity away instead of a few minutes. “We have to be back out there. We don’t have time.”

 

“Shh,”  Blake tries, and he’s pushing back against Adam’s hold, pivoting them around so their positions are reversed, so Adam’s shoulders hit the cool of the wall and he can see Blake’s pupils dilate. “We have plenty of time.”

 

“No,” Adam growls back, fingers tightening at Blake’s hair, his sticky palm grabbing at the other’s waist. “We have to--” And it’s then that Blake kisses him, pressing a heartbeat of breathless silence over Adam’s mouth, drops to his knees while the other is still trying to collect himself.

 

Adam can hear the sound of Blake hitting the ground, can and does imagine instantly where this is going, but he doesn’t really believe it, even when he looks down to see the way Blake is watching the drag of his hand across Adam’s cock, even when he catches the damp of the other’s tongue collecting the wet of Adam’s mouth still clinging to his lips.

 

“You can’t,” Adam insists, but Blake’s not looking at him, and then he leans in and, as it turns out, he can. Adam’s eyes go wide, his entire body straining in the sudden rush of heat that comes with Blake’s mouth sliding over the head of his cock, and it’s only the complete lack of air in his lungs that keeps him from spilling a groan into the weight of the night around them.

 

He’s staring at the top of Blake’s head, his eyes wide with vision he can barely parse, and Blake is sliding closer, the grip of his fingers at the base of Adam’s cock steady to guide the other over his tongue and deeper into his mouth. Adam’s heart is pounding, fast as the drums that are fading to quiet, now, and he should care about the audience silence that is spreading but Blake is humming, the thrum of motion against his lips catching contagious at Adam’s skin and jolting friction up the whole length of his spine.

 

Adam grabs at Blake’s hair, sticky fingers and clean alike, and he has some half-formed thought of urging the other to greater speed but Blake is moving already, anticipating the pull of Adam’s hands before he’s even felt it. Adam can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t see, and then there’s a roar of sound from the crowd and Blake groans around him and he’s coming just like that, cock twitching hard against Blake’s lips as he gasps air and whimpers against the weight of heat crushing into him. His legs are shaking, his hands are shaking, voice is shaking. He can’t collect himself, can’t parse any awareness of his surroundings for the dark of Blake’s lashes and the spread of grey hair tangled around his hands.

 

He hears the music, first. His heartbeat eases, releasing him from the grip of pleasure, and in the gaps he can hear the drums again, can hear the pattern of notes from the keyboard.. Blake pulls away, lifts a hand to press at the damp of his mouth, and Adam tips his head back to blink unable to see much in the darkness.

 

“They took a long commercial break to announce the voting,” He says, because Blake knows this as well as he does but it helps to steady him as BLake tugs his clothes back into place and gets to his feet. “Did you know they were going to?”

 

Blake laughs, softly enough to be lost to the rapt audience but loud enough that Ada, can hear it clearly. He tips his head down to see the curl of Blake’s smile, to watch the drag of delight tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

“I didn’t know,” Blake admits, his hand coming up to settle at the side of Adam’s neck. “I guessed they might, though.”

 

“And what if they hadn’t?” Adam asks without expectation of an answer.

 

He doesn’t get one. There’s just Blake’s infamous laugh, bright enough that it edges out the high notes of the music playing, and then Blake’s mouth, hot and so taut around his grin that it’s hard to kiss him.

 

Adam manages it somehow.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope ya'll like it. I'm not happy with the final four really. Ugh. I feel like Adam has been extra bitchy this season. So I just torture him through fic. <3
> 
> Lemme know what you think!


End file.
